Chapter 13🌷
The air-conditioned breeze of the luxurious hotel lobby swept across Milim's face the moment she stepped inside. The sudden chill sent shivers down her spine, drawing her arms around herself in an involuntary hug. Her eyelashes fluttered shut from the sensation, and within seconds, goosebumps erupted across her skin. This sensitivity to temperature was yet another symptom—one of the many—that had plagued her ever since she found out she was pregnant.
Ten symptoms and counting.
She had read that hormonal fluctuations could make the body hypersensitive to environmental changes, but experiencing it firsthand was disorienting. Unsure whether the cold would harm the child growing inside her, she instinctively stepped back toward the entrance, seeking shelter under the eaves. The shade was gentle, unlike the sharp midday sun outside, but her nerves were still a jumbled mess.
Wearing a baseball cap pulled low over her brow, her vision was partially blocked. She didn't see the man walking toward her until it was too late.
Thump.
She collided directly into a hard chest. A strong, immovable presence that remained steady even as she stumbled back in surprise.
"I'm so sorry," Milim gasped, flustered and clutching her stomach protectively. "I've been clumsy lately. It's a pregnancy symptom. I'm always afraid I'll slip."
The man's body didn't budge, and when the familiar voice responded, Milim's breath caught in her throat.
"Did you call me out just to bump into me?"
Her head snapped up in stunned recognition. "Mister Dylan?" she breathed.
The sight of him—cool, tall, and dignified in his tailored suit—made her heart momentarily freeze. He looked annoyed, his brows furrowed as his sharp gaze studied her.
"Is there something surprising about that?" he asked evenly.
Milim swallowed hard. "I… I didn't think you'd come. I didn't get a reply to my message last night, so I thought... maybe you wouldn't show."
He didn't respond to that. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked past her toward the front desk.
"Let's find somewhere private to talk," he said curtly.
Without waiting for her to catch up, Dylan requested a private dining room from the receptionist. His voice remained cold, detached, but efficient. Milim followed quietly, her heart hammering with every step. His long legs carried him forward briskly, and even though he didn't speak, his posture screamed irritation.
In the elevator, a heavy silence filled the space. Dylan's reflection glared back at him from the mirrored walls, while Milim stood awkwardly at the far side, eyes cast downward. Her pale face gave away her nervousness. Dylan caught the expression and scoffed internally.
So why did she ask to meet, only to look like this? Like she regrets it already?
He clenched his jaw. Coming here so early in the morning—he must have been mad to indulge this girl's whims.
When the elevator chimed and opened, Dylan stepped out first. The attendant led them to a private room, where they were seated at an elegant table already prepared with warm tea. The walls were soundproofed, the lighting soft. The waiter asked if they'd be dining and, without waiting for Milim's input, Dylan ordered several signature dishes. The man didn't even glance up from the menu.
"For two people, that's enough. You can go now. Don't disturb us unless necessary," Dylan said with finality.
"Yes, sir," the waiter replied politely, bowing before exiting and shutting the door behind him.
Milim let out a long sigh of relief the moment the room was truly private. She clasped her trembling hands together on the table. Her throat was dry, and she struggled to meet Dylan's unreadable gaze.
"Mister Dylan," she began quietly, "what I'm about to say may sound unbelievable… but it's true."
She reached into her bag and produced a folded piece of paper. Her hands shook as she laid it on the table, sliding it across to him.
"It's my medical report. From yesterday. Please… just read it first."
Dylan didn't move. He remained reclining in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, his expression unreadable and eyes fixed on her.
"You didn't actually want to see me today," he said bluntly. "Something happened. You didn't come here because you wanted to."
Milim flinched. His words hit too close to home.
She bit her lip, unsure how to respond. But he didn't press the point. After a long pause, he finally leaned forward and took the report.
The paper crackled as he unfolded it.
He scanned the contents quickly. The title alone made it clear: it was a blood test report from a hospital. His eyes flicked to the conclusion section near the bottom—and there it was.
"Positive for pregnancy. Estimated gestation: five weeks."
Dylan's eyebrows shot up. His fingers clenched around the paper as if it had burned him. He slammed it down on the table, his index finger jabbing the diagnosis.
"What the hell do you mean by this?"
Gone was his calm and measured demeanor. Now, he looked stunned—almost betrayed.
"I told you it would sound ridiculous," Milim said, forcing herself to remain calm. "But it's true. If you don't believe it, we can go for another checkup. Pick any hospital. I'm not lying. I don't have the power to fake a report like this."
Dylan's jaw clenched. "You're saying this baby… is mine?"
Milim met his gaze squarely. "Yes. You're the only person I've been with."
Silence.
He looked at her as if she were speaking another language. The air thickened with tension. The idea was too absurd. Too sudden. Too surreal.
"Why did you go for a test?" he finally asked.
"I started feeling symptoms—nausea, dizziness, fainting. I went for a checkup. The doctor noticed it from my pulse before even running the test."
Dylan leaned back and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "So you came here… to hold me responsible?"
"No!" she said quickly, her voice softening. "I didn't know what to do. The doctor said I need a guardian's signature if I want to get an abortion… but I don't want my parents to find out. I thought maybe you could help me sign the papers."
Silence. Then—
Bang!
Dylan's fist crashed down on the table. His eyes burned with rage.
"You're going to abort it? You want to kill my child?"
Milim jumped, terrified by his outburst. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, unsure how to respond.
"You… You want it?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Dylan's voice roared through the quiet room. "That's it! Enough! Do you even know how precious this child is?"
Another slam of his fist.
Milim's breath caught in her throat.
"Give birth to the baby," he said, his voice trembling now not with anger, but with something deeper. "If you do that, I'll take full responsibility. Whatever you want me to do—I'll do it."
Tears welled in Milim's eyes, unspilled but glistening.
"Then… I'll give birth," she said quietly, her hand drifting to her still-flat belly. "Even if I don't know what the future holds, it's still a life. I… I'll protect it."
But then she remembered something else. "School starts in a few weeks. It's August now…"
"Then stop going to school," Dylan said instantly, his tone brooking no argument. "I won't let you attend classes while pregnant. It's dangerous."
"But… I'll need my parents' signature to defer the semester. They'll want to know why."
"I'll handle everything," he said. "You don't need to worry about anything. The only thing that matters now is proving you're telling the truth. We'll do the test after we eat."
Milim nodded, lips tightly sealed. Her thoughts were spinning. What had she just agreed to?
But deep down, she knew—it was the right decision. This child didn't ask to be created. And with Dylan's wealth and influence, at least the baby would have a secure future.
A soft knock broke the heavy silence. The waiter entered with a tray of elegantly plated dishes, each one aromatic and beautifully arranged.
"Can pregnant women eat all of these?" Dylan asked brusquely.
The waitress glanced at the dishes and said, "Everything except the crab meat is fine, sir."
"Then take it away."
The waitress obeyed, slightly flustered by his intensity.
Milim, meanwhile, turned bright red. Her ears burned with embarrassment. Everything about this moment felt surreal.
"Don't be shy," Dylan said, his gaze softening just a little. "Eat what you like."
It was so strange. This was the same man who had smiled and teased her back in the clubhouse. The same man who now looked like he could command empires, yet showed concern for her food preferences.
"Thank you," Milim whispered.
She picked up her chopsticks and began with the lightest dish. One bite was all it took—her eyes widened. The flavor was incredible. Subtle yet rich, delicately balanced and unlike anything she'd ever tasted before.
"You've got stew on your left," Dylan said.
She glanced down, opened the lid, and took a spoonful. It was warm, nourishing, and tasted like comfort in a bowl.
For a moment, the world felt calm again.
But this was only the beginning.